49

Skimming across the past 49 years came up with so many good memories. All of them gathered with pharm and lawyer commercials delivered in the background. What's that got to do with reportage that titillates? Let's try this:

Living inside the gates with the one who does it all for me leads to freedom to do this. Those carousing, arousing binges in the front of the 49 ah-4-mentioned are now replaced by pixel-html-word plopping while life happens everywhere without my hands or back. Right there is enough to require therapy but when it's when you're happier than a hard-on at a hoo-ha convention you just know you've been gifted an enviable life.

From 9 years ago:
During the Christmas at work when I borrowed the Santa shirt, hat and fake beard and trolled the building for girls who were as drunk as me and kissed them and body pressed them, we could make my angel be standing there ready to accept Santa's buss but being called away at the last second. Meaning here would be "not a prude by any measure, but fate takes her hand so she's not just a minuscule character later on". Nah - too vanilla. Maybe my darling could be the gal in the Fort Bragg canteen who says yes to my request to dance with her, spins with me, steals my heart then drops out of my life because of the military thing until years later when we meet again for keeps. Better, but still needs more subtlety and prescience of our real destiny. Here we go - my baby's at the Squire during my reception and we connect at the duck pond where a hen and her hatchlings are on the shore and I look at her while I'm taking a drag from my Camel and ask "think they'll meet again after they fly away from here?" or "was your daddy a farmer 'cause I'm lovin' your mellons". Ack - time to revert to blocked state of mind and beg for brilliance.